


Love in the Making

by masi



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:51:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/pseuds/masi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harasawa is glad to see Araki again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in the Making

**Author's Note:**

> The following is a very self-indulgent fic inspired by the interaction between Coach Araki and Coach Harasawa in Q230.

The years have been kind on Araki Masako. While his own skin and hair are failing him, and looking in the mirror is becoming less pleasurable by the day, she is as beautiful as she was when they were in the Japanese National Team together. Or rather, she is more beautiful now, time having infused her features and manners with grace and dignity.

She was a bit hostile in the past, a lingering side-effect of her years in a biker gang no doubt. Genta found it attractive, was always trying to flirt with her, but Katsunori kept his distance. He couldn’t find anything to talk to her about besides basketball, and when she said “so what” in answer to his friendly “well, I see that we wear the same number,” he decided not to waste his time. He was incredibly relieved about his decision after a bruised Genta told him about the final failed marriage proposal, the subsequent encounter with Masako’s gang. 

However, Masako seems more approachable now, especially because she is in the company of her students. Katsunori steps closer to Masako, says, “It’s nice to see you after so long, Masako-san.”

He knows that he has done the right thing when she replies with a relatively polite, “Uh, good to see you too,” instead of glaring and telling him to fuck off. 

He continues, “Shall we start heading over together?” 

This, however, proves to be a mistake because she immediately gives him a baffled, slightly hostile look and then starts to mutter about him with her blond student, the one with the narrow, suspicious eyes. 

He can’t hear the words very well, but it does not sound like she is praising his former basketball talent or his current coaching skills. She is not commenting on his looks either. No surprise there: she has never been too impressed with his looks or shown appreciation for the effort expended on his hair.

They start walking towards the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium. While she does walk a few steps behind him, walking together in a sense, she makes no attempt at conversation. Katsunori makes a few rote comments about the weather and then leaves the conversation at that because they are surrounded by their students, a breed notorious for their nosiness and eavesdropping skills. He has already had one interrogation by a student: Wakamatsu wanted to know why he has come to watch this final Winter Cup game with them. 

Once inside the auditorium, Katsunori decides to invite Masako to sit with him, but he has only managed to say, “Masako-san,” when she walks off with her kids. 

Imayoshi is already heading in another direction, in the company of Momoi and his former teammates. The team has been behaving so far, even that brat Aomine, but there is no telling what the rest of the evening will bring. Katsunori follows them, just in case. He dislikes getting reprimanded by Touou’s new principal, a scatterbrained creature who gives the teachers considerable leeway in regards to curriculum but also likes to distribute misplaced blame. Touou’s loss in the early stages of the Winter Cup is now entirely Coach Harasawa Katsunori’s fault. Staff meetings have become very troublesome.

Katsunori finds a seat. He finds his gaze constantly traveling over to Masako during the game, at every blow of the referee’s whistle, after every spectacular play by that Kagami Taiga and Kuroko Tetsuya, who stopped Touou in their tracks. He glances at her each time he sees those kids trying so hard on the court, their faces flushed and alive. He can’t see her very well at this distance, but he knows that she must be as riveted as he is. It is difficult to leave basketball behind after spending years and years playing the game. That is why they have become coaches, isn’t it. When their bodies fail, they have to find another way to remain close to the sport. Whenever he is this close to a game, he remembers being on the court himself, under the dazzling lights, the ball in his hands, the net ahead of him. He feels the ghost of an ache in his limbs, along his bones.

***

After the game, he arranges his hair and then seeks Masako out again. He finds her just as she is stepping out into the hallway. He puts his right hand into his pant pocket so that he doesn’t start fiddling with his bangs again, asks, “It would be a pleasure to have dinner with you, Masako-san. My treat. We haven’t talked in a long time.”

Masako’s kids are still loitering in the auditorium, talking about the game. She looks up at him, more flustered this time. She says, “When did we talk in the past, huh, bastard? You used to stand around fiddling with your hair while Takeuchi was bothering me during award ceremonies, that’s all!” 

There it is, her tough, yakuza-style speech. People stare as they walk past. For once, he doesn’t feel the need to remove himself from this situation.

“My mistake,” Katsunori says to Masako. “I regret the lost opportunity.” 

Years of flirting and dates with women that go nowhere because their interests are incompatible, years of acting the part of a Casanova, and here he is in his thirties, without a wife or a steady partner, just a long list of numbers on his cell phone. It gets tiring. It tires him to think about it. 

He says, “Let me make it up to you tonight. I mean,” she has turned an alarming shade of red, and her fingers are twitching, like she wants to grab a baseball bat and aim it at his kneecap, “through dinner, of course. Excellent food, excellent conversation. That’s all.”

After a long, considering look, Masako says, “Can’t. I’ve booked rooms for the boys and myself, and I have to keep an eye on them. Make sure they’re not sneaking out of the hotel, you know.”

Katsunori swallows his disappointment, forces a smile, says, “Well, that’s too bad. Another time then?”

That other time won’t come until next year. The period after Winter Break is always busy, with the additional tasks of helping the third years prep for their entrance exams, rushing to complete the syllabus, making and administering final exams, calculating grades. And his subject, Chemistry, always proves to be an almost insurmountable task for the kids. They constantly ask for extra help in the week before finals, want him to repeat his explanation on concepts that he has already lectured about in great detail. He should have chosen an easier subject to teach, like Biology.

Masako may have found someone by their next meeting. It is surprising that she hasn’t already. She was always a very honest person, and now she has become beautiful. There is a very put-together air about her, in her posture, the lines of her coat, her tasteful heels. Very attractive.

This attractive woman is currently giving him a considering look. She says, “There’s a coffee bar in the hotel lobby. The Comfort hotel. You can meet me there in an hour.”

He replies, “Of course. I look forward to it.”

***

The Comfort hotel is close to the stadium, so Katsunori has just enough time to fix his hair, change ties, and apply two spritzes of his most expensive cologne before it is time for his date with Masako. He takes a taxi to the hotel and then walks into the hotel lobby. It is furnished in the Western style, and there are quite a few foreigners waiting by the elevators. The rooms must be expensive. Even if Yosen is a wealthy school, Masako clearly needed to do a great deal of persuading to receive funds for such accommodations.

As promised, Masako is waiting for him at the coffee bar. She is sitting on a wooden stool of the table closest to the door, legs crossed. The deep purple of her pencil skirt is complemented by her black heels. He wants to kiss the pink gloss off her thin lips.

He says, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long, Masako-san.” 

“No,” she replies. “Just got here.” She studies him for a moment before saying, “Had to put the baby of the team to bed. He kept whining about wanting more snacks and needed a proper whack from my shinai.”

Katsunori takes his coat off, smiling. “I trust that he is sleeping peacefully now?”

“He better be. Anyway, Himuro is with him. That kid’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s a good babysitter.”

“Kids are like that, aren’t they?” As Katsunori slides into his seat, his knees brush against Masako’s. She shifts a little but doesn’t look angry. “I sometimes wonder why I let that brat Aomine stay on the team. Ah, the joys of coaching and teaching.”

She smiles now, and of course it transforms her face into something even more beautiful. “Tell me about Touou,” she says.

“I’ll be happy to. After I fetch the drinks? What would you like, Masako-san?”

She tilts her head to the side, replies, “Surprise me.”

The words, coming from her mouth, sounded more like a threat than flirtation; regardless, Katsunori has to please the lady. He decides to order two cappuccinos, both with whipped cream, and two slices of red velvet cake. While his order is being prepared, he studies Masako. 

She is sitting with her back very straight, elbows at her sides, the picture of self-containment and confidence. She doesn’t look his way. From time to time, she glances out at the lobby. She takes two calls, murmurs into her phone while scowling with varying degrees of severity.

“All right?” he asks, on returning to the table with the orders.

She wedges her phone into her plain black clutch, says, “Yeah. Just a few … friends back in Akita. They wanted to run something by me.” She grabs a cup of coffee, takes a sip. “Hey, this isn’t half bad! I’ll still need another cup to keep me awake, but this is pretty good. And red velvet cake. Nice.”

He watches her lick cake off her spoon, her tongue pink and brown against the silver, says, “Why haven’t we done this earlier?”

“Yeah, you’re not half bad either,” she replies, smiles again. “So. You were going to tell me about your boys. And your manager.”

Katsunori finds that it is rather easy to talk about his job with Masako. He really should have tried to date teachers from other schools before. Masako is very sympathetic when he mentions the antics of the principal, understands the pain involved in competing with other staff members for limited funds, starts finishing his sentences when he begins discussing the behavior of the parents.

He is thinking about ordering them another coffee, and she has just started opening up about her own life in Akita, is saying “The winters are harsh, but-” when her eyes go wide. Quick as a whip, she is out of her chair, and there she goes, into the lobby, collaring one of the Yosen boys. It seems like this date is over. Half-irritated, half-amused, Katsunori collects his coat and her clutch and then follows.

The boy is almost in tears. It’s the big one with thick sideburns, captain of Yosen. “They wanted me to bring them hot chocolate,” he is protesting, “and I agreed because I wanted to do something nice for them because I’m graduating soon! Please forgive me, Coach! Oh, isn’t that Touou’s coach?” The kid stares. “What’s he doing here?”

“Listen very closely, Okamura,” Masako says, yanks Okamura down so that his ear is right by her mouth. “You can get that hot chocolate for your team. But you didn’t see anyone here. Got it?”

“Y-yes, Coach!” After a few more furtive glances at Katsunori, Okamura shuffles away.

Katsunori says, “You know that he is going to tell his teammates.”

“Of course he is.” Masako shrugs. “But, this way, those kids will know that they aren’t supposed to know about you. They won’t have the courage to say anything to me until the last day of school.”

“You really understand the teaching business, Masako-san.” He hands her the clutch. “I’m glad we had this coffee date.”

“Yeah.” She tucks her bag under her armpit, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Me too.”

Before he can think better of it, he takes her right hand, kisses the back of it. Her fingers twitch once against his palm, and when he looks up, he sees that her face is starting to turn red, but she doesn’t pull away. 

He squeezes her fingers gently. They are rough near the tips, warm. He asks, “Perhaps we can have dinner next time? Sometime soon?”

“Fine,” Masako says, pulling her hand back. “But I’m going to pick the place. Give me your number.”

She might pick a place in Akita, where her “friends,” probably former members of the biker gang, will shake him down before letting him anywhere near her. However, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. He needs some excitement in his life. A new direction. He gives his number.


End file.
